


spinning edge

by rhymeswithpi



Series: limit break [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Everything Hurts, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Introspection, Touch Aversion, but there's cake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 17:08:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10575753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhymeswithpi/pseuds/rhymeswithpi
Summary: Let them hurt you, let them break you. Whatever it takes to keep the Crown safe. Get cake.





	

It’s been hours, and he’s still trying to get the feeling of  _ hands _ off his skin. It’s easy to shut down the other sensations, easy to tuck the pain and the anxiety away under lock and key in his mind, slam the door closed and pretend it’s not there. 

The hands linger, though, refusing to be locked away with the rest of it. Maybe it would be easier to ignore the phantom sensations if he had something to  _ do _ beyond sit in his room at his desk, door bolted shut against outsiders, but he likes to believe he’s learned his limits. Any of the things that would get his mind off the last session require way more than his body has in it, exhausted to the point he’s not sure he can get out of his chair. 

Noct -  _ the prince _ , he corrects himself - is starting to notice something’s wrong. He knows the questions he’s been asking, knows he’s starting to look for answers to things he doesn’t need to know. Everything he’s done, is doing, is  _ enduring _ , is to protect the prince. The last thing he wants right now is for him to find out just what that means. 

He’s dimly aware that his ribs still ache under everything, but he’s supposed to leave just enough pain to keep his mind aware of it, enough to keep him sharp. Just enough to know he’s been injured. Not a bit more. They always leave him with some degree of pain these days, and the sessions just keep getting  _ longer _ . They need to find his limits, they say, need to find the point he can’t take any more of it, all so they can break him, make him stronger, make him endure longer the next time.

Stop. Deep breath, as deep as his still-sore ribs will allow. Exhale slowly, through the nose. He adjusts his glasses again. The memory of the sound his ribs made when they cracked under the hands makes him cringe, and the locks are  _ slipping _ . Deep breath. A twinge in his side. He’s holding the breath too long, keeps holding it until he feels a bit light-headed, forces the locks back into place. Adds an extra one just for good measure.

Who had looked after Noct the last two days? Who is going to make sure he gets up for school in the morning? He just had to trust  _ someone _ was filling in for him, hope they weren’t being asked too many questions about where he was and why he wasn’t there. He can’t afford to take the next day off, can’t let himself slip just because he’s tired, even though he knows the pain in the morning will blindside him the way it always does, an ache that can never quite be erased by a single potion - all he’s ever allowed - or whatever regular painkillers he can dig out of his desk. The morning after is always the worst, and he’s never prepared for it, but he can’t let Noct worry about him. He can’t let other people make the excuses for him, doesn’t want to let someone else do  _ his _ job, take care of  _ his _ charge.

He’s aware he should be hungry, not entirely sure when the last time he ate was, but getting something would require leaving his room. He’s not willing to do that. Not today. Deep breath. Hunger tends to get locked away with the rest of his body’s complaints. Like everything else, he can deal with it later.

Even though there’s a piece of cake on his desk, sitting untouched in its box. Clarus  _ always _ makes sure there’s cake when he gets back to his room after a session. He can’t even bring himself to open the box, can’t remember the last time cake had just seemed  _ wrong _ . It just seems meaningless, a pointless reward for performing what he’s been told is his  _ duty _ . Let them hurt you, let them break you. Whatever it takes to keep the Crown safe. Get cake.

Deep breath. The morning will be painful, but at least there won’t be anyone there to see it. And there’s cake, if he decides he can stomach it. He knows if he asked, someone would fill in for him tomorrow, as well, and he could  _ sleep _ , but there’s so much to do between his own studies and taking care of the prince.

He knows he’s been jumpy lately, flinching away from casual contact. He knows it’s just meant as a friendly gesture, knows it the way he knows Noct’s class schedule and how to make a grilled cheese sandwich. So  _ why _ can’t he stifle the reaction before it happens? Not everyone is trying to cause pain. Very few actually are. He’s almost jealous of how easy it is for other people, how they can clap each other on the shoulders and ruffle each other’s hair without spiraling into whatever pit he’s found himself in.

It’s a flaw in his own mind, one he’s going to have to overcome before they figure it out, start using it against him. They’ve already started, whether they know it or not, or he wouldn’t still be trying to erase the memory of their hands from his skin.

Deep breath. He fumbles with his phone for a moment, trying to set reasonably early alarms for the next day, give himself enough time to lock everything back behind the door in his mind but still get a decent amount of  _ sleep _ . He just has to get  _ to _ his bed, and everything will be alright.

Abused muscles protest as he drags himself upright. At least he’d had the sense to put on his pyjamas when he’d finally made it back to his room, knowing if he sat too long, it wasn’t going to be possible. He always sits too long, thinks too long. Deep breath. Relax.

This is his duty, in the end. The Shield protects the Crown, and the Sword defends it. He’s barely fifteen, and he just wishes he’d had some sort of say in the matter.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this one _forever_. I have regrets.
> 
> Blanket statement: if I miss a tag you think should be there, please tell me.


End file.
